Page 33 of Feral

He jumped back, letting me go so suddenly that I stumbled and he had to catch me around the shoulders to keep me from falling. The moment his hands were back on my body, I knew without having to look that he’d put his glamour back up. The sense of something being very wrong hit me and I squirmed for him to let me go. He did, then lunged around to face me.

We both looked down at the place where one of his claws had scratched me.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, pulling a fist full of hair. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Daphne.”

“It’s—’

“Stay right there, let me get somethin’ to…just stay right there.”

He tore off down the short hallway to the bathroom at the end. I heard the water running as I stared down at the cut. It wasn’t that long, maybe half an inch, and it wasn’t bleeding all that much, but Fraser was acting as if he’d gutted me.

When he came back, his dark eyes were wild and there was a grim set to his lips under his beard. I reached for the wet cloth he had in a death grip but he ignored me. Instead, this beast of a man knelt in front of me and pulled my shirt up just enough to see the cut.

He pressed the cold cloth to the cut, more gently than I thought possible from a man of his size.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt ya.”

“Fraser,” I reached under his chin and made him look up at me. “It was an accident. I’m fine.”

He let out a long sigh and nuzzled into my palm. A moment later, his eyes closed and I reached down with my other hand, brushing some of his hair back from his forehead. A sound, very much like a contented huff, came from him and I smiled.

“You don’t have to wear the glamour,” I said, hoping he’d drop it. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I…”

His hand on my belly moved, scraping the cloth across the cut and I hissed at the sudden, sharp pain.

Fraser’s eyes flew open at my reaction and he jumped to his feet.

“I need to go,” he shoved the washcloth into my hand before bolting out the door.

“Wait, I—”

But he was already closing the door.

I stood there, my mind stunned into stillness for the first time I could remember. It was beyond strange to feel bereft at Fraser’s absence but that was precisely what it was like. I’d been warm, treasured for a few brief, wonderful moments. And then abandoned.

It was illogical, dramatic.

But also true, and I was having a terrible time shaking it off.

I need to do something…anything.

The cut had already stopped bleeding but it should have a bandage. Still, it took me a minute or two to convince my legs to move. When I got into the bathroom my reflection had me stopping cold.

I was flushed, my mouth swollen from his kisses, and the evidence of his teeth scraping against my jaw and neck was bright against my pale skin. But none of that really mattered.

No, what I couldn’t stop staring at, what consumed everything until it was the only thing I could focus on, was the oval shaped mark on the top of my shoulder. I should’ve been bleeding, or at least have an open wound like the one on my stomach. But it looked more like an old scar, with its red and white raised impressions. I ran my finger along it and was shocked to realize just how hot it was, as if that part of my body had a fever.

This was where his mouth was only a few minutes ago. This marks me as his.

It was thrilling, and terrifying, and confusing.

I wanted him here with me, and yet I was also grateful that he wasn’t as I tried to process all of this. I must’ve stared at the mark, touching and caressing it for another fifteen minutes before the brush of fabric against the cut made me remember that I hadn’t taken care of that yet. It didn’t take long to clean and bandage it but when I did, fatigue hit me like a truck and I stumbled to my bed. It was still relatively early, and I really did need to document my experiences.

But as I pulled my comforter up and around me, it was all I could do to reach over and turn off the bedside lamp. Before I could even run through my packing list for tomorrow, I was asleep.

Chapter Eight

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